


Clap Hands

by Lichterin



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Blood and Violence, Dark Winchesters, M/M, Murder, Torturer Dean, Walt and Roy are brothers, Wincest only implied
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-22
Updated: 2017-10-22
Packaged: 2019-01-21 08:22:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,974
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12453381
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lichterin/pseuds/Lichterin
Summary: Dean had no time to take revenge on Walt and Roy after the events ofDark Side Of The Moon.But years later, they're in the same town as Sam and Dean. And how could Dean pass up that opportunity?





	Clap Hands

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Clap Hands by Tom Waits.

“I know what you want to do, Dean. Please don’t.”

“They killed us, Sam. Don’t you want revenge?”

“We’re alive, ain’t we? They just did what they thought was right. How’re they any different from us?”

“Sammy… They shot you. In front of my eyes. I told them I would be-”

“If they ever try again, we shoot them. But please don’t go and kill them like that… Dean, it was _ages_ ago!”

“Alright. I won’t. Promise.”

\---

Dean never forgot. Who would forget his own death? It had by no means been his first, but that was not why he wanted revenge. It wasn’t because they had killed him. It was about the fact that they had killed Sam. And that was unacceptable.

He was sitting in the Impala, outside of Roy and Walt’s motel room. It was the first time after the incident that they had heard from them. Dean wondered if Walt and Roy knew they were alive again, if they had ever found out.

Technically, it had been Walt who had pulled the trigger. But his brother Roy was guilty just as well. Only, he was out at the moment for whatever reason. Dean didn’t care, he just hoped he would be back soon. Meanwhile, he would make sure Walt would stay entertained.

Dean got out of the car and walked to the room. He knocked. Walt opened the door so fast and with such a sour look on his face, it made Dean’s eyebrows shoot up. As Walt’s expression changed to pure horror, Dean grinned widely at him. When he made a few steps into the room, Walt snapped out of his shock, hands trembling as they scrambled for his gun. He left it on the bedside table.

“Where did Roy go?”, Dean asked. Walt was still standing next to the door.

“I, I… Holy shit,” he stuttered, making Dean smile.

“Told you I’d be back, didn’t I?”

“I killed you. I killed you myself. I heard the rumours, but, but- I killed you myself!”

“That you did,” Dean said. “Now come on, close the door. We want some privacy.”

It took about two minutes to tie Walt to a chair and have him gagged.

\---

“Listen Walt,” said Dean. He took a seat at the end of the bed in front of his captive. “Not that you can do anything other than that at this point, but listen carefully.”

Dean’s face went stone cold. “I don’t care about your reasons. Sam could’ve killed your fucking puppy, and that wouldn’t have given you permission to hurt him. Not if I’m around. I do not, under any circumstances, appreciate it if anybody hurts my little brother. And you - and your brother - you killed him. Right in front of my eyes. And then you killed me. ‘Cause you didn’t want me to come after your stupid asses.” He paused.

“Now, what did you expect me to do? Stay dead and let you get away with it?” He waited again. Walt had tears in his eyes. When he noticed Dean was waiting for an answer he shook his head. Dean nodded once.

He watched as Walt started crying, snot coming out of his nose and his breath catching. Dean made a face. “Alright, before you suffocate on your own snot... I will take off the duct tape. If you scream, I will kill you immediately.” He looked him square in the eyes.

With a quick move Walt’s mouth was freed. He took a deep breath, trying to calm himself. A small whimper escaped him, “please…” He sniffed, and nearly choked on his snot. It was sickening to watch.

“Please? Please don’t kill me? Please give me a tissue? I want to kill you, just so I don’t have to look at your stupid face anymore. Suck it up man, stop fucking crying, didn’t even do anything yet.” 

Walt struggled to meet his eyes, his face was red and damp from his tears. “I’m sorry I shot you and Sam.”

“No, you’re not. You’re sorry I’m back.”

“How?” His voice was barely there.

Dean ignored his question. “For you information; that wasn't the first time. Those rumors about me going to hell? True.” Walt gave out a squeak, eyes wide.

“And you know what? Torture in hell is… well, hell. But lucky me didn't only get to experience this wonderful attention on myself, no, I also got to learn to do it to others. To cut and slice and hurt and doing things to another soul you couldn't even come up with in your most horrible dreams.”

Walt opened his mouth like he wanted to say something. He closed and opened it again. Dean thought he looked like a fish.

“Don't worry, I ain't gonna kill you. But I will show you each and every thing I learned.” Dean's insides curled pleasantly in anticipation. The face Walt pulled when he took out a knife only spurred his desires on more.

He stood and placed the tip of the knife on his victim's lip. “I would love to hear you scream, but this will have to wait till Roy comes back so I can get you somewhere private…”

Dean backed off and reached for the duct tape.

“Please… please let me go. We won't go after you again. I'm sorry!” The desperation in his voice-- Dean couldn't wait to hear him scream and beg. Beg to finally _please just kill him_ , to stop the pain. Not that Dean would. He made a promise after all.

For now he just put a new strip of tape over his mouth.

“Here’s a tip along the way; if you start weeping again, I won't bother doing you that favour another time. If you suffocate, that will be your own damn fault.”

Walt was watching him with a damp face. Dean could tell he was holding himself back. He smiled and patted his cheek with the knife.

“Good boy. So… Where do I start? Nothing big for now, I only want to give you a sample of what’s to come...”

A knock interrupted his contemplations. Dean sighed, looked like he would have to wait. The disappointment didn't hold long though, with Roy here he could finally take them to that old shack he found outside of town. All his nice toys were already there.

With a flick of his hand, the knife was stuck in Walt’s tigh. Dean ignored the muffled sounds and went to the door.

He pulled it open, wide grin on his face, which rapidly vanished. It was Sam, that greeted him with a bitchface, instead of Roy with a holyfuck-face like he had expected.

\---

“Dean,” Sam said.

“Sam,” Dean breathed. With a glance towards Walt he grabbed his brother's arm and dragged him to the bathroom.

He closed the door so Walt wouldn’t hear them, but he was busy shaking in pain and fear so that wasn't likely anyway.

“Sammy, I can explain-”

“Explain what? Dean, you promised me you wouldn't come and kill them.”

Dean nodded once. “And I won't. I won't kill them. I'm only going to… y’know, teach ‘em a lesson.”

Sam's bitchface softened a little. If he wasn't disappointed in him he would've laughed at that loophole.

“C’mon Sammy,” Dean shot him a grin, “you know you want to.”

His brother briefly shut his eyes. “Look, Dean, they thought they were doing the world a favor. Hell, they probably were, if it had worked out. Walt and Roy are hunters and brothers, just like us, don't you have any sympathy for them?”

“Maybe I would have, if they hadn't fucking killed us!” Dean whisper-shouted. He tried to keep the volume down, no need for Walt witnessing any doubt in the deed - that he didn't have. Sam wasn't particularly loud too, apparently he wasn't all that against this. “Sam… I’m _dying_ to hurt them. Please.”

“Your torture is even more cruel than straight up killing them.” But there was no accusation in this statement, Sam was starting to consider it.

Dean was bubbling with joy. It would be way more fun with Sam by his side and his actual approval. “Sammy, Sam. Let's get some revenge. They deserve it. We can't just let them get away with it. I bet they told everyone they got us, probably told them they fought against us and were better than us. They're not. How can you say they don't deserve to be punished? They're not like you and me. They can't do what we can. They wouldn't do what we would. Sammy, they wouldn't die for each other like we would. They don’t-”

“Jesus, Dean. Hold on a minute,” Sammy was regarding him with furrowed brows. It was his ‘I'm thinking, shut up’ face, so Dean did and hoped for the best.

“Alright. On one condition though…”

\---

The drive to the shack was quiet, not even Walt on the backseat had any complaints, though that was probably due to the fact of not being able to complain when you were unconscious.

Roy had joined them too, not long after Sam and Dean had finished their talk. He was currently bound and lying in the Impala's trunk.

Dean was not fully satisfied with the turn of events, but he could live with it. It was still something he could look forward to.

\---

Dean grasped the fingernail between the red-hot pliers and _pulled_.

Walt’s scream sent a tingle up his spine.

“Let’s take one for every shot, shall we?” Dean was completely in his element, face stripped of every emotion.

Sam was with Roy in another room, pained sounds muffled through the wall. Dean would love to also pay him a visit, but since it was Walt who had killed them both, it was fine.

Devoted with the utmost care and dedication Dean ripped out nail after nail and let them drop to the feet of the chair where Walt’s wrists and ankles were held in place by rope.

By now he was a whimpering, crying mess. His pleads to stop came out raspy from the annoyingly loud volume his vocal cords could muster.

Dean gripped Walt’s hair and hold his head still while he ran a knife along his cheek allowing Walt a moment to relax, if he wanted to see it like that. It was a sharp knife, he barely needed any pressure to draw blood.

“Look up,” he told him, loosing his hold and leading away the knife. Walt met his gaze with red and puffy eyes.

“Please…”, he whispered, hoarse.

Dean brought the weapon back to his face, not touching the skin. Walt flinched, eyes flicking to the tip of the knife.

“I would advise you not to move,” Dean said lightly. Quickened breath met his arm while he moved the tip of the knife towards Walt’s right eye in an agitating slow pace.

Just before the iris Dean stopped, Walt’s breathing went erratic. With a flick of his wrist his eyelashes were cut of. Walt froze until he realized he had still the ability to see.

Dean turned towards the various weapons and devices he had laid out on the table and put the knife down. His captive released a shuddering breath, though he had to be still in pain from what he had done to his hands.

He smiled at the thought of what Walt must be thinking right now, what he feared was next. The urge to ask was huge. But Dean played around a bit, stroke a blade, picked up some chains, and - wondering what would terrorize him the most - he chose a thumb screw and a small knife.

He turned around. Walt closed his eyes, braced himself. His hands were bloody and shaking, they tried to shift away from the inevitable pain that was to come, but with no use. Dean didn’t move until Walt was watching him again, tears welling up.

Silence stood between them until Walt responded with a pitiful sound to the chilling smirk that started to form on Dean's lips. Walt was fidgeting in his seat. Dean let him squirm for a bit and then, finally, pushed himself away from where he was leaning against the table, but took no step towards him.

“I will stop,” Dean said in a cold and calm manner. “I will put down my knife and untie you from this chair. I will let you go and never search for you again.”

No response. Apparently Walt wasn't as dumb as to think Dean would just do as he said. Good for him, Dean would have laughed. The hope sparkling in his eyes still didn't fail to amuse him though.

“But I'm not Santa, and you're not on the good list,” he continued. Walt pressed his lips together and lowered his head. “But I did mean what I said. There's a hook of course, there always is. So I will propose you a deal, how ‘bout that?”

Knowing Dean wanted an answer and also knowing there was no correct one, Walt said: “What… what deal? I'd do- give- anything.” He bit his lip and made that about-to-cry-face again. “I beg you… Don't hurt me- don't, please. I can't take it anymore.”

Dean pursed his lips. “I think you're too coherent to be considered not being able to take it anymore. You won't have to, don't worry. We still have Roy. If we let you go, Roy will take your place under my hands. Likely ending in death, this isn't hell after all, bleeding out is a thing up here. But hey, you'll be free, right?”

Walt gaped at him with an open mouth. “Or-- We let Roy go and you and I continue our session. I'll be sure to take it slow, make it last while I can. But let me tell you, this ain't nothing in comparison to what expects you down in the pit.” And if Dean had no idea what the criteria were for hell and heaven then, well, Walt didn't have to know that.

“Sammy ain't as good in this as I am, so you'll sadly have to choose,” he said, sending him an faux apologetic smile.

Walt gaped at him with a pained expression.

A shuffle at the door caught Dean’s attention, Sam was leaning at the frame, his face giving nothing away. Dean shot him a grin.

Walt was turning in his seat to look over his shoulder. He swallowed hard. Dean had brought the knife to his yet unmarked chest when he turned back around. Walt gave a loud sob. By the time he was able to spit out a response he was shaking horribly.

“Please… don’t kill- let me… let me go… please.”

“Is that your answer? Let you go and kill Roy?” Dean slid the knife through the first few layers of skin on his neck, letting the blood dance around the blade.

“Yes,” Walt pressed out.

Dean stood there for another few seconds, then put his instruments back on the table. Not paying the man on the chair anymore attention he went to the hallway with Sam and closed the door behind them.

He looked expectantly at his brother. Sam nodded.

\---

Nobody was speaking. Dean wondered if it was due to Walt and Roy’s - who were now sitting next to each other - devastated states, faces red and swollen, clothes soaked in blood. Time to prompt a friendly conversation.

“Walt,” he said. “Wouldn’t you like to say some last words to your brother?”

It was Roy who reacted first. “Walt… I am so sorry.”

“It’s not your fault…” Walt didn’t look at him while speaking. “I wish I could’ve decided otherwise, but it wasn’t a decision, I just couldn’t… it hurt so much.”

Roy sobered up after hearing this. “What…?”

Dean grinned. He turned to look at Sam, who was hovering behind him and looking over his shoulder. He didn’t return his smile, but watched the brothers, face composed. Dean was the only one who saw the twitch in his jaw, saw the slight frown and the mild disappointment towards Roy and Walt. 

“Explain yourself, Walt,” Sam said.

Walt took a deep breath, jittery with pain. His voice was a whisper. “They asked me to- They, he, said that either they would torture and kill me… or you. I had to choose…”

The silence was deafening. Roy was the one who broke it.

“They asked me the same.”

Walt’s head shot up and for the first time did he look at Roy. “What-,” he stopped like he didn’t dare to ask. “What did you say?”

No response. And somehow that was answer enough.

“That’s right,” Dean said, “but both of you put your own sorry asses in front of your own brother.”

“We would’ve let you both live, if you had chosen to sacrifice yourself,” said Sam. “You can keep your apologies to yourself.”

The tension between Walt and Roy was palpable. They both got still and silent, sensing the upcoming deaths more than ever.

Dean debated whether to give them a few parting presents, so he took out a butterfly knife and let it snap open and shut again.

The next moment Sam had a gun in his hand.

A shot.

“No,” croaked Roy, watching the blood drip out of Walt’s forehead, not letting his eyes off his brother, even as Sam pointed the gun at him.

The bullet hit him in the temple.

\---

“Dean, by the way, where did you get all those torture devices?”

“I asked Crowley.”

“You asked Crowley?”

“I still have a place reserved in hell, apparently. Or something like that. Those were some of the instruments Alastair had used on me or I used to torture others.”

“I… I can’t believe you. Other people would do anything to forget about it and you ask for _souvenirs_.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!


End file.
